


Whispers in the Dark

by wildcursive



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: But with a happy ending, Fix-It, Lots of Angst, M/M, Noctis puts on the ring - the slideshow, also Episode Ignis spoilers, cause did you all think i would not, features references to Kingsglaive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcursive/pseuds/wildcursive
Summary: In Gralea, separated from his friends and defenseless, Noctis finally has no choice but to put on the Ring of the Lucii. Before he can use its power, he is forced to watch his ancestors judge those whose actions brought it to him.For Ignoct week 2018 Day 7: Situational Prompt





	Whispers in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends! Here's another entry for Ignoct week that is just a tiny bit late because of who I am as a person. No beta, so forgive any mistakes I might have missed and I hope you enjoy. Also, the style may seem a bit weird in places, I was experimenting, sorry :d Title is from the Skillet song, because it came on shuffle as I was rewriting a scene and it just fit so well.

"Ignis! Gladio!"

The train carriage between them collapses with a resounding crash and Noctis is left alone, with the Armiger still out of his reach. So he keeps running, finds an open door and steps in, almost falling to his knees as he bends down to take several deep, shaky breaths. Luna's death, Ignis' sight, pushing Prompto off the train, the Regalia broken down - each loss weighs heavy over his chest as he sits there, defenseless in the daemon-infested dark. The Ring of the Lucii is an even heavier weight in his palm as he takes it out, but the time has come. His father's words ring through his head, but the voice he hears is Ignis'.

'A king pushes ever onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.'

Noctis puts on the Ring.

* * *

3.

He sees it tumble to the ground amid drops of blood and horrified realizes that it was cut straight off his father's finger. A large pale hand picks it up and puts it on the last finger of its opposite. Time stops.

"Hear me, Lucian kings of old! For I am Ravus Nox Fleuret and none is more worthy of your power than I."

The voices start off as a mere whisper, but with each passing moment they multiply, growing louder, deafening.

"Unworthy," they are repeating, disjointed and merciless. Noctis has joined them too, compelled to by the power of the Ring as he watches flames engulf Ravus' arm

The vision is barely over before the next one comes.

* * *

2.

The Ring, grasped in a pale delicate hand - the same one he tried to grab onto in the depths as Lunafreya bid him farewell - and wrested out of it to settle on a calloused ring finger. The lights around go out one by one. A single one remains, illuminating the figure lying on the ground down below him. Noctis knows the man - Nyx, one of his father’s Kingsglaive. He remembers the easy demeanor and cocky smile from many a shared weapons practice over the years, as well as a nickname used half in jest. The Hero.

“Show yourselves, Kings of Lucis," Nyx yells.

Blue figures appear one after another on Noctis' sides. Gone is the cacophony of Ravus’ judgement as only one of them addresses Nyx this time. He recognizes him – the Mystic – as he recognizes them all, it’s in his blood. They find the Hero unworthy too. Noctis tries to open his mouth then, to argue, to say anything, but the Ring's power is compelling him to stay silent. He is in his rightful place among his ancestors like this, yet he is not truly one of them yet, this is not for him to decide. A sick feeling settles deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Wait," his father's voice this time and Noctis tries to yell, to reach out for him. The power of the ring pins him in his place, motionless now too, as he is forced to watch Nyx trade his life for a power he did not desire, for a cause that will lead only to death and destruction. The Kings of old disappear then, replaced by the sun rising over Insomnia's ruins, over a Nyx who is fading.

"Rule well, young King."

Noctis is ready to take the Glaive's place and shout his anguish to the high heavens. Let his ancestors judge his worth, he will judge theirs in turn.

He is not allowed to.

* * *

1.

"Ignis!" he manages to gasp out before being compelled to silence yet again.

The Ring falls out of a lifeless palm – it is his own, Noctis realizes, looking at his own unconscious body face down on the solid rock of the Altar – and hits the ground mere inches in front of Ignis’ face. Ignis, who is pinned down, disheveled and without his glasses, the wild look in his eyes like nothing Noctis has seen before. He watches Ardyn offer a deal, his heart thudding in his ears, because this is how Ignis loses his vision and he can do nothing to stop it. The Ring’s power can pin him in place, but it cannot stop the tears spilling down his cheeks as Ignis rises to his feet.

“Whatever it takes, I will protect him!”

Ignis puts on the Ring. It settles on the middle finger of his left hand, a mirror to the way Noctis now wears it on his right one.

His screams of pain tear through Noctis’ chest as if they are his own. He watches helpless as his friend's back bends in agony, as his hands clutch at his head. Through harsh breaths and anguished cries, Ignis manages to right himself again, his right hand holding the left one up, as if it cannot support the ring’s weight on its own.

“Kings of Lucis, lend me your strength!” he calls out.

Time stops and so must the pain, because Ignis freezes for a moment before letting his hands fall to his sides. He looks at Ardyn across from him, arms lifted in one of his theatrical gestures, but still as a statue. He turns around.

“Show yourselves!”

This isn’t like the lights going out in Insomnia. Instead, Ignis’ surroundings slowly fade to black until he is engulfed in complete darkness. A solitary figure materializes at first, the same blue shape as the Rulers of Old, but rather than towering overhead, it appears right in front of Ignis, standing just slightly taller than he is. From where he is frozen still by the Ring’s power Noctis can only see its back.

“Majesty?” Ignis gasps.

“Ignis, my boy,” his father’s voice again. More tears spill down Noctis’ cheeks.

His father doesn’t ask Ignis why he’s put on the ring, doesn’t admonish him for endangering his life. Instead, he reaches to put a spectral hand over his shoulder, but before he can the towering figures of their ancestors appear in their places around Noctis.

“Yet another intruder not of royal blood that seeks our power for himself,” the Mystic speaks again.

“No!” Ignis shouts, moving past Regis to face the one who is addressing him. “I do not care for your powers, but I need them to save Noct. Is he not your Chosen One?”

His voice is full of so much conviction, even in the face of these beings that must be as powerful as the Astrals themselves.

“Then you must be ready to pay the price the Ring exacts, Protector,” another speaks.

Noctis detects a taunting note in his tone, but Ignis remains unrelenting. “Anything.” Does he know that he is facing the Fierce?

“Anything?” a female voice questions with an amused tilt. “You are brave, Advisor, I had a Glaive like you once. Tell me,” the Rogue pauses, her voice devious. “Do you love him?”

Ignis turns to the side to look at Noctis’ father.

“More than anything,” he answers, head hanging down, as if he is unable to face the King with his response, but the words ring loud and clear. Noctis’ breath catches in his chest.

“What we take, you will never have back,” the Mystic again and Noctis wants to scream for Ignis to run, to take off the damn ring and throw it in the sea.

He stands unmoving instead, his voice determined when he speaks.

“My life and the entire world, do with them as you wish after. Just let me protect him now.”

It is not even the Ring’s hold anymore that leaves Noctis frozen, as he watches his oldest friend, the man he has always loved more than their stations allowed, stand tall and bold in the face of his ancestors, ready to sacrifice anything for him when he cannot give him anything in return. 

“Go forth then, Protector,” the Rogue again, but there is no trace of mockery in her tone now. “We will grant you the power to stand against the Accursed this time, but you must defeat him on your own.

“I will-” the last sound is cut off as the darkness dissipates and Ignis’ pained screams start anew. Noctis watches the purple flames of the Ring’s magic engulf him as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The Ring does not allow him to see the fight with Ardyn, instead it shows him Ignis stumbling back to where he is still lying - _powerless and useless_ – to collapse next to his unconscious body, chest ragged with coughs and the left side of his face seared by the Lucii’s magic. His eyes are still open and clear, even if they are already unseeing and clouding over fast, so Noctis takes one last look and commits them to memory for the fights to come as the vision around him slowly fades to black.

The countdown is over, it’s his turn.

* * *

But the Lucii are not there waiting when he opens his eyes again. He is back at the run-down Gralean facility, alone and on his knees. And in pain. It creeps up at him, starting from his right hand, gripping it like a vice and spreading all-over. Agony courses through every single nerve in his body and Noctis screams and screams until it’s gone, as suddenly as it appeared.

“Show yourselves!” he screams again and again, but nothing changes. Alone, with only the power of his uncaring ancestors as his weapon, he clambers through Zegnautus, Ardyn’s taunting voice his sole companion. He fights his way through daemons and MTs, then up from where he finds his father’s sword next to Ravus’ lifeless body to finally reunite with his friends. He cannot talk to Ignis before they find Prompto, before recovering the Armiger, before they have found a place safer and more secluded than the abandoned barracks, before putting Ravus’ soul to rest, before he has to leave them all to reach the Crystal and its power, before he is sucked into it, before, before, before…

Before he learns he has to die.

* * *

They all look so different, yet he’d know them anywhere. Gladio - a decade more haggard with his longer hair, but still cutting the same imposing figure, solid and protective; Prompto – still jumpy and excitable, smile offset by facial hair Noctis is not used to, but familiar and warm; and Ignis – as posed and handsome as ever in his suit, longer hair still styled up, a visor hiding the scarring around his sightless eyes. They tell him about the last decade, but Noctis still cannot feel it. He left only yesterday, to him it has not even been a year since their home fell.

They head to Insomnia, set up camp one last time at what is supposed to be nighttime (Gladio and Prompto tell him they never got used to it either). He tells his friends about the fate that awaits him.

Later when the tears have dried, he waits for Ignis at the end of the heaven. Yet when he hears footsteps behind him Noctis cannot find the words to say. How does he ask his oldest friend why he sacrificed so much? How does he tell him he loves him too?

“It’s been a long road,” there is a hint of levity in Ignis’ voice, but he knows him well enough to recognize it as forced, even without looking at his face.

“More for you than me,” Noctis answers. “I still feel like we fought our way through Zegnautus only yesterday.”

“And you were on your own for so long then,” Ignis starts. “I-“

Noctis finally turns to face him. “Do you know how Ravus lost his arm?”

Ignis stifles.

“I- yes.” A slight inclination of his head. “I learned in Altissia.”

Noctis takes a step towards him. “I found out in Zegnautus, from the Ring.”

Out here, far away enough from the fire the night is quiet enough for him to hear Ignis’ breath hitch.

“It showed me Ravus,” he says, reaching out to take Ignis’ hand in both of his. “And Nyx.” Ignis’ grip is tense. “And when I thought it was done, it showed me you.”

It is one of the few times in his life when he sees his advisor speechless. He lifts their joined hands towards his face almost reverently to brush his lips over leather-covered knuckles.

“Did you mean it?”

The hand in his grip squeezes his fingers.

“Every word.”

Noctis almost gives himself whiplash with how fast he drops their joined hands and throws himself into Ignis’ arms instead, fingers clutching desperately at the fine material of his shirt. Ignis’ chin settles on top of his head like when they were little boys, huddling together for warmth or comfort after yet another nightmare. His hands come to rest on Noctis’ waist and he tucks his nose into Ignis’ neck and whispers apologies for all the time that has been taken from them against his skin.

He tries to tell him he loves him. Ignis stops him before he can get the words out.

“Tell me in the morning.”

* * *

He is not allowed to say the words when they leave the haven or before they enter Insomnia. He tries as they wander through the ruins of their home, after Ifrit’s frozen form shatters in thousands of pieces in front of them, before they enter the throne room, before he leaves them at the Citadel steps back where they started. He is ready there, at the end, even if they don’t have the privacy he would have wanted, Prompto and Gladio are family after all. But Ignis shakes his head minutely and Noctis leaves with a heavy heart.

The last thing he remembers are the towering figures of his ancestors as he summons them, the pain is too much after. But as the Wise picks up his blade for the first strike he silently curses them all.

* * *

His eyes open to bright blue depths again, but there is something wrong. As he slowly blinks, blurriness leaving his vision, Noctis realizes this is not the azure of the Beyond, but rather a shiny turquoise in which he can see his own reflection. He is sitting slumped forward and his back protests when he attempts to straighten it, but a warm grip on his shoulder helps keep him up, if only slightly.

Noct reaches out with a heavy hand then and tugs at the visor. Ignis helps him take it off with his free hand and sitting like this he can see his beautiful scarred face clearly. Captivated by the sightless gaze boring straight through him, Noctis needs a moment to notice it, but there is sunshine streaming from every window and every crack in the throne room's walls, light encompassing Ignis' form like a halo.

It’s morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write Ignis somehow managing the verse 2 ending in canon again? You bet! I really loved this prompt! Please, tell me what you think or you can yell at me on tumblr [@aro-hawke](http://aro-hawke.tumblr.com/).


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